I scratched the back of my ear, stopping in front of a canvas abstract painting. “What’s this represent?”
“Whatever you see,” he said like a complete moron.
I saw a white background blurred by three horizontal brushstrokes painted black. That’s all I saw. “Thought-provoking,” I muttered.
Xander walked up and handed me the much-needed scotch.
“Can I take this in the shower with me?” I asked. “I can’t remember the last time I showered sober. It’s a disgusting affair.”
“Do whatever you want,” he said.
I chuckled. “Don’t give me that freedom. You’ll learn to regret it quickly.”
“I’m going to decompress a little,” he said. “Take some notes about what happened earlier and what we learned. See if I can’t declutter a few of the details.”
“Journaling, you mean? You’re going to write in your diary? Dear Diary,” I said, “I finally reunited with my military crush, Joseph Labrador Hunter.”
“Labrador?”
“It’s an inside joke,” I said.
“With whom?”
“Myself. Whatever, you wouldn’t understand it even if I explained it to you.” I glanced around the living room. “Shouldn’t you have, I don’t know, like, a picture of Jesus or some candlelit shrine around here? You cursed earlier. Remember that? F-bomb blowing up my eardrums. You should definitely repent.”
Xander sighed, drank a little too liberally from his glass, and asked, “You ever stop talking?”
“Only to breathe, baby. Only to breathe.” We stood beside each other for a silent second, sipping scotch.
“Thought you were going to shower?”
“I’ll get there, perv. Keep your pants on.” I knocked back the rest of my drink like a shot. “Mind if I go again?”
“Knock yourself out.”
“So, when you’re done journaling,” I said, moving into the kitchen. The condo was an open concept, so we could talk without the burden of a wall between us. “You going to research Hecate in your handy-dandy database?” I found the decanter and poured the amber liquid about twice as full as Xander’s stingy offering. “I prefer to know a little about my opponent before facing off. Call me old-fashioned, but surprises aren’t my thing.”
Without waiting for him to respond, I carried the scotch down the hallway and found the bathroom. The mirror didn’t have any water stains on it, no toothpaste splatter, and no grime. How could a person live in such decadence? I needed a little filth to assist my reflection—which stared back at me with swollen, heavy eyes and unkempt hair and a scraggly beard.
“Still sexier than you!” I called out to Xander, not knowing if he heard me or not.
He didn’t respond.
I set the tumbler and my phone on the glowing countertop, then peeled off my bloodied, singed, dirty clothes.
After turning on the shower, I stood on the tile and let the water get warm. While waiting, I glanced at my phone. I hadn’t checked it since removing it from the bowl of rice. The battery life read five percent. Better add that to the recharging list of me and my guns. Notifications showed a missed call and had a voicemail from a blocked number.
My heart beat in my face as I pressed the button to listen.
Nothing happened at first. I turned up the volume, but the message didn’t sound. Glaring at my screen, I realized that I hadn’t pressed the play button. I hated technology.
Steam rose over the shower’s glass walls, whispering for me to step in. I ignored the temptation for the time being, opting instead to press the stupid sideways triangle on my phone and play the recording.
“Joseph,” the same hissing voice from the parking garage said, “I want you to listen carefully. The world is a dark place, but hell is even darker.”
I grimaced. Why did Nephil always have to speak in flowery, metaphorical language? Why couldn’t they just say what was weighing on their hearts and minds like a normal human being? But I guess no one really ever says what they want to say. So, new question… why can’t monsters be less like humans?
The message continued. “If you come after Melanie, we will kill her.”
The line clicked dead. I tried to redial the blocked number, but apparently technology hadn’t come that far—at least to my simplistic understanding. I tossed the phone on the counter and made a fist, struggling not to put the first blemish in Xander’s immaculate mirror.
“Fuck,” I said to appease my frustration. Cursing helped a little. It usually did. I sat on the toilet seat and stared at the white floor’s reflection of the can lights above me. The shower continued to stream and steam.
Hecate had used the word we. Whom did she mean? Her and the Priestess that frequented the Snake Head Lounge? Or someone else? Hopefully Xander had stopped scribbling his feelings onto a blank page and was gathering information on Hecate.
I meant to strangle her with my bare hands and show her just how dark this life could be.
I made sure to dry my feet after finishing with the shower. Hardwood ran through most of Xander’s condo, and I didn’t want to ruin the flooring. See, sometimes I think of other people. After wrapping the towel around my waist, I padded down the hallway and into the living room. Xander sat on the couch, scrolling through a tablet. I tossed my phone on the couch cushion, startling him.
“Seriously?” he asked, glaring up at me. “After the day we had, you’re sneaking up on me?”
I grinned. “Check out the voicemail,” I said. “Also, where can I find a phone charger and some clothes?” I surveyed the room for a clock, found one glowing on the oven in the kitchen. Narrowing my eyes, I made out nearly midnight. “We need to leave here pretty soon if we plan to catch the closing-time crowd.”
Xander picked up my phone. “What’s your password?” he asked. I told him, and he listened to the voicemail, frowning. When the message finished, he handed me the phone. “What’s it mean?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “I’m curious about who Hecate means when she says ‘we.’ You think she means the Priestess
